Torturous Memories are so Sweet

He had gritted his teeth, trying to slow down, trying to make it last.

But she had been merciless.

The way her nails raked down his back, the way she whispered his name in ragged gasps—

She had him undone.

And when she had bitten his neck, hard, right at the base where his pulse pounded…

Fuck.

His world had gone white.

His body had seized, pleasure hitting him so hard that he almost blacked out from the intensity.

His hips jerked, his hands clutching her too tightly, grounding himself in the only thing that felt real.

Her.

Allora.

The woman who had just broken him.

And what made it worse?

He knew she had felt it too.

That she had crashed over the edge with him, her body writhing beneath him, lost in the same primal storm.

Malec's jaw tensed as he stared at her sleeping form.

A deep, slow rage curled in his chest.

She had been with others before him.

That much was clear.

And the idea of her ever being with someone else after this…

His fingers tightened in her hair.

Unacceptable.

She was his now.

No other man would ever touch her again.

She would not leave him.

Not after this.

Not after he had finally tasted her, claimed her, branded himself into her bones.

If she tried to run again, he would chase her.

If she fought him, he would tame her.

Because this?

This was not just lust.

Not anymore.

This was possession.

This was an obsession so deep, so absolute, that nothing would tear her from him now.

Malec sighed, running his hand down her bare spine, feeling the way her breath hitched slightly in her sleep.

He had choices to make.

How would he approach her in the morning?

Would she pretend it meant nothing?

Would she try to push him away?

It didn't matter.

Because he would remind her.

Every day.

Every night.

That she belonged to him now.

That he was the only one who could make her feel like this.

And if she tried to resist?

He would break her again.

And again.

Until she stopped fighting.

Until she finally understood.

She was his.

Now.

Forever.

And if the gods had mercy on this world—

Nothing would ever take her from him again.

Allora stirred beneath the heavy fur blankets, the warmth of the bed lulling her into momentary comfort.

The fire was still burning low, casting soft golden light over the massive stone chamber.

She stretched, her body pleasantly sore, a slow smirk curling on her lips as last night's memories flooded her mind.

Malec.

His hands.

His mouth.

His losing battle for control.

She had felt it in the way he clutched her, in the way his body had trembled against hers as he finally let go.

The great Silver Fox… undone.

By her.

A low, amused chuckle escaped her as she shifted beneath the covers.

It had been rough, raw, consuming—just as she'd expected.

But she hadn't expected him to shake.

To lose himself so completely.

And now?

Now, he was probably brooding somewhere, wondering how the hell he had let a mere Canariae unravel him.

Good.

Let him dwell on it.

Let him think about her.

Because if he was obsessing over her, then he wasn't thinking clearly.

And if he wasn't thinking clearly…

She could use that.

She sighed and rolled over, expecting to find him still beside her.

But the bed was empty.

Huh.

Malec had left her alone?

That wasn't like him.

Not after what happened.

Not after the way he held onto her like he was afraid she'd disappear.

Her smirk deepened.

Was he avoiding her?

Maybe he was ashamed.

Or maybe…

He was planning something.

Either way, she needed to get dressed and find out.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she spotted something draped over a wooden chair.

Clothes.

Fresh, new clothes.

Expensive clothes.

She lifted the soft, velvet-like dress, running her fingers over the deep blue fabric.

The front was open, revealing a pair of tight leggings underneath—a strange mix of practicality and elegance.

The fur-lined boots beside them were warm, luxurious, almost too comfortable for a Canariae slave.

Interesting.

So this was how he was playing it now.

Allora chuckled, shaking her head.

"Maybe I should bang him more often if he's going to be this nice to me," she muttered under her breath.

As she dressed, a thought nagged at her.

This outfit.

This wasn't just clothing.

This was a statement.

A Canariae slave should have been dressed plainly, in rough fabrics, neutral colors.

But this?

This was warm. Luxurious. Carefully chosen.

It wasn't just about keeping her comfortable.

It was about making her his.

Dressing her in a way that set her apart from the others.

She was his Canariae.

His little dove.

And now, the entire castle would know it.

She rolled her shoulders, adjusting the way the dress draped over her.

It was comfortable.

Too comfortable.

If she wasn't careful, she might start to enjoy this.

She snorted at the thought.

No.

She wasn't here to settle into his world.

She was here to steal his blood, find her way home, and save her people.

And she had wasted enough time.

With one last glance at the empty bed, she turned and walked out the door.

She had sickly humans to tend to.

And a Silver Fox to outmaneuver.

Allora moved swiftly through the castle halls, her new attire whispering against the cold stone floors.

It was strange, wearing something so warm, so rich.

Something so… intentional.

She should have felt disgusted.

She should have ripped it off, thrown it back in his face.

But she didn't.

Because, in the end, it didn't matter.

She wasn't staying here.

She wasn't his.

Not really.

She had two goals.

And only two.

Get Malec's blood.Get back to the portal.

Nothing else mattered.

Not his obsession.

Not his desire.

Not the way his hands had held onto her like he would never let her go.

No.

She wouldn't let herself care.

Because caring meant losing.

And she refused to lose.

She was halfway to the healers' wing, where the sick Canariae were being tended to, when a familiar voice stopped her.

"You look different."

Allora turned, already knowing who it was.

Luko.

The golden-eyed scholar, standing in the corridor with his arms folded over his chest.

His piercing gaze flickered over her new garments, his lips pulling into a thin line.

She lifted a brow, mocking.

"What? Does the dress not suit me?"

Luko didn't smile.

Didn't laugh.

Didn't smirk.

He simply exhaled, stepping closer.

"Malec doesn't do things without reason," he said, voice lower, serious.

"You know that."

Allora rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. He's marking his territory. What else is new?"

Luko's jaw tightened.

"No, you don't get it. He's not just marking you—he's claiming you."

Her amusement faltered.

But she masked it.

"What's the difference?" she scoffed.

Luko's golden eyes hardened.

"The difference is that if you were any other Canariae, you'd be standing in that dress at an auction block, waiting to be sold."

Allora stilled.

He continued.

"But you're not standing at an auction block. You're in his bed."

The weight of those words settled heavily between them.

She forced a mocking smirk, shoving past him.

"Not my problem. I won't be here long enough to care."

Luko let out a frustrated sigh, falling into step beside her.

"You still think you're leaving?"

"I know I am," she shot back.

"And how do you plan to do that?"

She stopped in her tracks, whirling to face him.

"You can start by telling me how the hell your people extract the cure from Malec's blood."

Luko's expression shifted.

The mocking playfulness vanished.

Now, he looked at her with careful calculation.

"Why do you care?"

She squared her shoulders.

"Because I need it."

"For your people."

"For all of humanity," she corrected.

Luko was quiet for a long moment.

Then, finally—

"It's not simple," he admitted.

She crossed her arms.

"I'm a scientist. Try me."

Luko sighed, running a hand through his wavy dark curls before answering.

"The antibodies exist in Awyan blood, but not in all of us. Only certain bloodlines, and even then, the extraction process is… invasive."

Allora's stomach tightened.

"How invasive?"

Luko hesitated.

"You need a direct source. Raw blood, drawn fresh. The antibodies are unstable outside the body, meaning they degrade within hours if not properly contained and mixed with a specific alchemical solution."

Fresh blood.

A direct source.

Meaning she'd have to take it straight from Malec himself.

She clenched her jaw.

"What about storing it? Preserving it for transport?"

Luko shook his head.

"Even we can barely keep it stable for long distances. It has to be handled immediately."

Her stomach sank.

Damn it.

She had been hoping to draw the blood, store it, and take it with her.

But if it was that unstable, she would have to find a way to use it right away.

Right there.

In this world.

Which meant—getting the sick Canariae to the cure.

Or worse—getting Malec to them.

And that…

Would not be easy.

Before she could ask anything else, a deep voice interrupted them.

"Allora."

Her breath hitched.

She turned.

And there he was.

Malec.

Standing at the end of the corridor, arms folded, his tan eyes burning into hers.

Possessive.

Unyielding.

Luko tensed beside her.

But Allora?

She straightened her spine, meeting Malec's gaze head-on.

She could still feel him on her skin.

Could still hear his breathless groans in her ear.

But she couldn't let that shake her now.

She had a mission.

She had a plan.

She had to keep playing the game.

So she smiled.

Slow.

Sweet.

Deceptive.

"Yes, Master?" she purred.

Malec's jaw ticked.

He knew.

He knew she was mocking him.

And that only seemed to excite him more.

"Come with me," he said firmly.

No explanation.

No room for argument.

Just a command.

Allora hesitated for half a second.

Then—

She followed.

Because for now?

She needed him to keep believing she was his.

Because soon—

She was going to take exactly what she needed from him.

And she wasn't going to ask for permission.

Malec led Allora through the castle halls, his grip firm on her wrist as he guided her away from Luko.

Away from the sick Canariae.

She didn't fight him.

Not yet.

She needed to know what he wanted first.

She let him pull her along, let him think he was the one in control.

But the entire time, her mind was racing.

She needed to get back to the Canariae.

She needed to figure out how to extract the cure.

And most of all—she needed to find a way to take Malec's blood without him realizing it.

She had no time to waste.

Malec finally stopped when they reached his study.

The moment they stepped inside, he turned on her, tan eyes flashing.

"I don't want you near them."

Allora blinked.

"Who?" she asked, playing dumb.

His jaw clenched.

"The sick Canariae."

Ah.

So that's what this was about.

She folded her arms, feigning indifference.

"Why? Afraid I'll catch something?"

Malec's eyes darkened.

"Exactly."

His voice was sharp, unyielding.

"I will not have my Canariae getting sick."

His Canariae.

The possessiveness in his voice should have made her furious.

Instead—it gave her an idea.

A dangerous, reckless idea.

One that could change everything.

She lifted her chin, challenging.

"So what? You're going to lock me away forever?"

"If I have to," Malec growled.

She rolled her eyes.

"That's stupid. It's not like I'd die from it. If I got sick, I could just get the cure—"

She stopped.

Her own words echoing back in her mind.

Malec snorted, amused.

"The cure doesn't work like that. You'd have to be infused with the antidote directly. Your body would have to fight the virus and adapt."

Her breath caught.

"What?"

He frowned slightly, not realizing what he'd just given away.

"The only way for a Canariae to survive the sickness is if they receive the cure in time. If they do, their body adapts, and then—"

"They carry the cure inside them."

She finished the sentence for him.

Her mind whirled.

If she contracted the virus and received the antibodies in time…

She wouldn't just be immune.

She would be the cure.

Her blood.

Her body.

She could carry it back.

Back home.

Back to humanity.

A rush of exhilaration and fear hit her all at once.

Because this was it.

This was the solution.

This was how she would save them.

She didn't need to steal Malec's blood.

She needed to become like him.

She needed to infect herself.

And Malec had no idea he had just sealed his own fate.

Allora sat perfectly still, her mind working through every angle of this conversation.

Malec was possessive, but he was predictable in his protectiveness.

He was obsessed with her health, her safety.

If she could just push the right buttons, maybe she could learn more.

She tilted her head, pretending to absorb his words.

"So, you're saying… if I got sick, you'd give me the cure?"

Malec's tan eyes darkened.

"You are not getting sick," he snapped.

"But if I did," she pressed, testing his patience.

His jaw tensed, irritation flickering across his sharp features.

"If you did, I would cure you. But you won't. Because I won't let you."

Allora pretended to nod in submission, but then—

She tilted her chin slightly, feigning casual curiosity.

"So, what about Luko?"

Malec's brows knitted together.

"What about him?"

Allora shrugged, keeping her tone light.

"You let him around the sick. Aren't you worried he'll get infected?"

Malec snorted.

A short, dismissive sound.

"No."

Allora narrowed her eyes.

"Why not?"

Malec exhaled sharply, as if the answer was obvious.

"Because it's a Canariae sickness. It does not affect Awyan."

Allora's breath hitched.

Her mind froze.

And for the first time in this conversation—she almost forgot to mask her reaction.

The Cotard-Virus…

It only infected Canariae.

Not Awyan.

That meant…

They weren't the same species.

Not fully.

She wasn't just in another world—she was on another branch of the evolutionary tree entirely.

She might not even be biologically compatible with the antibodies at all.

Her entire plan could collapse before it even begins.

Because if Malec was right—

Then the cure might not work on her at all.

And she would have risked everything for nothing.

She forced a small, casual nod, acting as if that information wasn't shattering her entire plan.

"I see," she murmured, as if it wasn't a big deal.

But Malec's tan eyes flickered over her face.

His gaze lingered. Studied.

Like he could tell she had just realized something important.

Like he could sense the shift in her thoughts.

She had to get out of this conversation.

Fast.

Before he started asking questions.

Before he could see the cracks in her mask.

So she let out a mocking scoff and leaned back in her chair.

"Well, I guess that means Luko's safe from your overbearing protection, huh?"

Malec's scowl deepened.

"Luko does not need my protection."

"Right," she smirked. "Just me, then?"

"Yes."

The certainty in his voice sent a strange chill down her spine.

She swallowed, forcing a mocking laugh.

"What a lucky girl I am."

Malec didn't smile.

He just watched her.

Too long.

Too hard.

Like he was waiting for something.

Like he was trying to unravel her.

So she did what she always did.

She smiled first.

Then she changed the subject.

Because now, she had a new problem.

A very big problem.

And she needed to figure out what the hell she was going to do next.